Further Accords of Madness
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: Of the 16 Accords of Madness, only 3 have been revealed thus far. But Sheogorath is not an idle daedra, and madness knows no bounds.
1. Volume 1: Boethiah

**Prologue:**

3 of the 16 Accords of Madness have been recorded and revealed to mortal eyes. But there are 13 other Accords to be noted.

**Volume I:  
**

It came one day that the Prince of Plots, Boethiah, received a visit from her brother the Mad Prince, Sheogorath. Boethiah received him within her throne room in all her might and power, "Why do you come, Mad One?"

Sheogorath bowed in response, "I come only to look upon your greatness, for I have heard tell of a variety of your servant who is both grotesque and powerful that I have a wish to see for myself."

Boethiah raised her chin with pride, "Indeed, I have such a servant. Behold." And Boethiah brought forth a creature of great emaciation. Its every bone outlined beneath the skin, claws sharp and grasping, its toothy maw perpetually opened wide with a seeking tongue that licked at the air in search of its next meal. To further show the power of her favored servants, Boethiah brought forth a number of formidable creatures. The Hunger, of which she was so proud, fell upon them, killing and devouring them whole yet not an inch did it add to the withered body.

But Sheogorath proved difficult to impress, "Are you certain this is the creature you most favor? It does not see as fearsome as I might have expected."

Boethiah frowned, "Perhaps it is not in best form now. Come back in a week's time and you shall see it greater still." The Mad Prince accepted and departed for his realm.

For the week that followed, Boethiah kept her precious servant caged and contained, allowing it not a bite to eat. The Hunger became more vicious, snapping at any living thing that drew near. And when a week had passed the Mad God returned and Boethiah showed her servant to him once again.

Sheogorath looked and shook his head, "I see no difference. Come, sister, show me the true prize among your servants."

Boethiah became incensed, for she had cultivated the beast with her own hand, "Return in two weeks, then my Hunger shall prove unequaled." Again the Mad Prince accepted and left Boethiah's realm. For another two weeks, Boethiah further starved her precious Hunger. The creature turned mad with the deprivation and flung itself against the cage that held it, bending the bars in its attempts to feed on the flesh within its view, to the point that none in the realm but Boethiah would dare enter even the chamber where the Hunger was kept. Truly a terrible and fearsome creature to behold.

But Sheogorath returned and said again, "This cannot be your terrible favored." Boethiah railed, for she could not understand how such a demonic creature could inspire anything less than awe, even from the Mad One. Sheogorath offered, "Please, dear sister, I have distressed you. Allow me to take the thing. Perhaps an outside effort can discover what you have missed." Boethiah was angry she might be accused of inadequacy, but she wished her creature to be truly fearsome and so permitted him to take the Hunger from her realm.

Three weeks following, the Mad God played host to his sister in his own realm. She entered his throne room and witnessed the Hunger he had taken, sitting peacefully at Sheogorath's feet with its head upon his knee. Boethiah was outraged that her fearsome servant would be turned into a glorified pet. "Mad One, what have you done to my Hunger?" she demanded.

Sheogorath bid her take a seat beside him, "Come, my sister. Dine with me and I shall not be long in telling you."

Boethiah was enraged but knew herself in the Mad God's realm and did as she was bidden. The two sat and talked, Sheogorath with a smile and Boethiah with a glower. Then, in an instant, the Hunger's demeanor changed. The calm vanished and it leapt to its feet, tongue flicking and eyes seeking. An utterly changed creature. The daedra guards fell back to defend, the mortal servants vanished screaming in fear. The Hunger took off with maw open wide in desperate search of a living thing to consume.

Boethiah admitted she had never seen such bloody intent from her Hungers before, "What did you do to it?"

Sheogorath smiled, "Why, sister, I fed it. Quite regularly. But only ever living things for which it was forced to search before consuming. Now, when it is hungry, no living thing creature is safe." Boethiah bowed before the wisdom of the mad and ever after allowed the Hungers to wander Sheogorath's realm freely.

_**I came up with this story, wrote it, and posted it within a few hours. Let me know how it turned out.**_

_**The question I asked before writing this: If the Hunger is a servant of Boethiah, why is it found in the Shivering Isles?  
**_


	2. Volume 2: Mehrunes Dagon

**_Another "came up with it quick and posted it up quick". Let me know what you think._  
**

**Volume II**

As a result of some unknown transgression, Mehrunes Dagon, the Prince of Destruction, became angry with his brother Sheogorath, the Prince of Madness, and waged war upon him. Sheogorath accepted the challenge and they agreed to prepare their armies and meet on the battle field.

Mehrunes Dagon returned to his realm and assembled his forces: the tricky scamps, the wild clannfears, and his hordes of merciless Dremora. Dagon's army was strong and terrible, but he knew the crafty ways of his brother and sent a spy so that he might know what Sheogorath was doing. The spy went into the Mad Prince's realm. He returned and said that Sheogorath was not training his troops for battle. Instead he had invited everyone of his realm to a dancing party in his palace.

Dagon was furious that Sheogorath would not take his challenge seriously and resolved to ready his troops to massacre Sheogorath's on the appointed day. He ordered that his Dremora take up an intense training regimen, practicing the wielding of sword and mace for hours on end so that they would not be matched.

But Dagon wished to be certain that Sheogorath was not planning something sneaky. Again, he sent a spy to observe how Sheogorath was preparing for the coming battle. The spy returned and said that Sheogorath's dance party had yet to cease. And when the spy made mention that the Mad One's Daedra were getting rather good at dancing, Dagon struck him down in anger.

Well, if Sheogorath chose to act frivolous, the he would suffer for it when the day for their battle came. The Prince of Destruction ordered that great war machines be constructed. Every Dremora in his ranks worked day in and day out, creating great siege weapons, massive battering rams, as well as constructing the finest armors and putting wicked edges to their blades and maces.

The day before the battle, Dagon once again sent a spy, wishing to know what Sheogorath was doing with his last hours, or if he even recalled that they were to wage war at all. The spy returned and said that Sheogorath was feasting with his servants, and that the palace of the Mad One rang with songs and the laughter of the Prince himself.

Dagon's fury was unmeasured. He stomped and raged so that every corner of his realm shook and no few towers toppled for the Prince's fit. He resolved to show his brother just how a true Daedric Prince conducts a war. He ordered that everything be checked and rechecked, and kept his troops up all night chanting frightful mantras that must have echoed across all the realms of Oblivion.

On the day of their great battle, on some unnamed plain of Oblivion, the two Princes and their armies stood across from one another. Dagon's forces wore armor that gleamed, carried weapons whose edges could cut through the hardest of substance, and they dragged great machines whose destructive ability was beyond measure. But his army itself was weary and sluggish from all the work Dagon had driven them to do in prepration and more fearful of their own prince than of the army they were to face.

Sheogorath addressed his brother, "It seems I have won before the battle even begins. Shall we call this one a draw for the sake of our pride?"

Mehrunes Dagon would not hear of it, "No. You have mocked me and my power from the start. Let this war commence!"

And so it did. The two armies converged. But the daedra of Sheogorath was fit and nimble from all their time spent dancing, well fed from the feast and in good spirits. The battle did not last long as Dagon's forces were decimated before they could even fire off a single of their great war machines. Mehrunes Dagon withdrew into his realm with shame, chased by the triumphant laughter of the Mad One.


	3. Volume 3: Mephala

**_The question answered by this Accord: why does Sheogorath like yarn?_  
**

**Volume III  
**

On a stormy night, Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness, came forth from his realm to witness Mephala working her will upon the mortal plane. "How goes it, sister?" he said.

The Webspinner replied, "I am toying with the lives of mortals. This should not be news to you."

The Mad One exclaimed, "Toys? I love toys! May I play as well?"

The Webspinner was hesitant to deal with a Daedra whose plots are as often pointless as not. But she agreed, so long as her own ends were served. "What shall the game be then?" the Webspinner asked.

Sheogorath replied, "Let us see who can bring the most ridicule to a single common man. And the winner shall earn a boon of the other." This served the Webspinner adequately and she agreed. As her weapon of choice she drew a spool of simple yarn from her robe, while the Mad One chose a palmful of water.

By her secret art, Mephala wove her magics with the yarn and set them upon a single mortal man. With them, she placed in his path all things that might inspire love, namely for the daughter of a noble family that dwelt within his town. The poor man quickly became enthralled and attempted to woo her. The noble lady had no interest, especially in one of such low birth, and ignored him while all those in town who witnessed his attempts laughed and the young man did indeed become ridiculed.

Meanwhile, Sheogorath bent over the head of a poor man and let a few drops of water from his hand fall into his ear. It caused him a great deal of discomfort that could only be alleviated when the man was upside-down. The poor man was driven by his discomfort to walk on his hands everywhere he went and the townsfolk laughed at him and he did indeed become ridiculed.

This continued for a time, neither Prince gaining the upper hand, until Sheogorath said, "This is becoming boring. Let us try something else. Whoever can first drive the man from the town that ridicules him shall be declared the cleverest between us." Mephala agreed.

With a single pluck of a thread within the web she had spun, Mephala emboldened her young man. He went to his beloved's family and asked openly for her hand. They laughed at him and refused. But he had been made bold by Mephala's influence and challenged her father and brothers for the right to her. The family became angry and set upon him, driving him not only from their house but from the town in which he lived. And Mephala was satisfied.

Meanwhile, Sheogorath bent again over the ear of his selected, and again let a few drops of water fall into his ear. Now, the man's discomfort was increased to the point where he could no longer keep his balance. The poor man was ever attempting to set himself on his hands and ever falling as a result of the Mad One's doing. The people continued to laugh at the poor man, but he had already earned his title as the town fool and they did not drive him out.

Sheogorath turned to Mephala and said, "It seems that I have won."

Mephala replied, "You are indeed mad. Look. Your selected is still permitted to dwell within his town, while mine shall never return."

The Mad Prince nodded, "True, you have won the second of our challenges. And so I say you are the cleverest between us. But while your selected is now despised, mine remains ridiculed by all his neighbors. And so I have won the first game we agreed on. So I am entitled to a boon from you."

Mephala was unhappy that she had been tricked, but accepted that he was correct: they had never agreed to abandon the first of their games. "So what boon do you desire? The soul of my selected, perhaps?"

Sheogorath replied, "I would settle for that between your hands."

The Webspinner looked at the web of yarn suspended between her fingers, "You would wish my ability to weave the fates and circumstances of mortals."

Sheogorath was aghast, "What need have I with such ability? No, no, dear sister. I wish the yarn from you. And you weave such lovely patterns, I would emulate your nimble fingers." So the Webspinner passed him the yarn, devoid of power or enchantment, and left the Mad One to play with his new toy while he laughed like a child or madman.

_**Ok, the question is kind of answered. He's a madman. What do you want from me? Reviews are appreciated.**_


	4. Volume 4: Azura

**_Classy Cynic reviewed and wondered how Sheogorath would deal with the "good" daedra. Well, I hope this answer does not disappoint._  
**

**_The question today: the sky of the Shivering Isles is quite lovely looks like something more akin to...hm...  
_**

**Volume IV**

On the 21st day of First Seed, the followers of the Daedric Prince, Azura, gather to summon their lady. They bring her beauteous gifts wishing to express their devotion to her. As they traveled to her shrine, the worshipers discerned a fox caught in a trap. Its fur was silvery like the moon and its eyes gleamed like gold. They thought the creature so lovely that they freed it from the trap and took it with them to present to their lady with all of their other gifts.

The worshipers called and their lady appeared, and they showed her all the beautiful things that they had come to offer including the silvery fox. When they brought the creature before her, it leapt from their arms and pranced and danced before the Queen of Dusk and Dawn. It danced so prettily that when the gathering was done, Azura was obliged to take the fox in her arms and bring it with her to her realm of Moonshadow in Oblivion. Azura's realm is blindingly beautiful, and yet still she found favor with the little silver fox.

When the time for dawn approached, Azura went to the groves of twilight where grew the fruits of dusk and dawn, which hung heavy from the branches. The trees of dawn were vibrant with pinks and reds and oranges, the fruits glowing like small colorful fires. The trees of dusk were dark, colored with purples and blues as well as sparkling of countless stars within each fruit.

Azura opened the gates to enter, but when her silver fox made to follow she warned him away, "No, no, little one. None but I must enter this grove. For the power in the fruits must be handled with great care and you might do yourself harm." So the silver fox sat obediently as the Lady went and plucked a fruit of the dawn from a tree. She left the grove, closing the gate behind her. She then went into her personal garden and, with a single finger, broke the skin of the fruit in her hands. The opening began to well with vibrant colors like juices flowing forth. Azura quickly buried the fruit, covering it over with earth. On the mortal realm, as the sun prepared to rise above the horizon, the power within the fruit of dawn broke the surface of Azura's garden and the colors spilled skyward, framing the sun as it rose and creating a beautiful dawn.

Azura watched the fruit of her labors until the dawn of the fruit had faded. Then she called to her silver fox and they went on their way. All day she fawned over him, brushing his soft fur, watching him leap and play at her feet. She even fashioned him a beautiful golden collar and placed it around his neck. When the time for dusk came, Azura repeated her actions of the dawn. This time with a fruit of the dusk. She plucked a fruit from the grove, broke the seal of the fruit's skin with her finger and buried it in her garden. The colors of dusk rose like the colors of the dawn, cloaking the sky in deep hues and scattering the stars into the night.

When the fruit of the dusk had given its all, the lady chose to take her rest and retired. When she was seen to sleep, the silver fox stole from Azura's side and raced to the garden of dawn and dusk. He wiggled under the gate, his collar catching until the clasp came apart and he left it behind. With a flying leap the silver fox snatched a fruit of the dawn from the tree on which it grew. He did this a second time, this time taking a fruit of the dusk. With his prizes firmly gripped between his jaws, the silvery fox turned and leapt through a doorway that opened between the realms of Oblivion.

Once in his home realm, the silvery fox's form was cast off and there stood the Daedric Prince of Madness, Sheogorath, his silvery beard and mustache expertly combed and his golden eyes glinting with mischief. He laughed like the madman he was and danced about, celebrating his victory over the Queen of the Dawn and Dusk. In his glee, the fruits slipped from the Prince's grasp and fell upon the ground. Their skins burst open entirely and, above ground, their contents exploded across the entire sky. The fruits of dawn turned the sky of day vibrant with color every moment there was a sun visible, and with the falling of night the fruit of dusk was revealed to have scattered immeasurable stars that shone brighter than any seen before as well as streaks of violet and blue. And as the entire fruit had been opened at one time these colors would never fade.

It wasn't long before Azura came calling on her brother, the Mad Prince. Sheogorath welcomed her with the madman's equivalent of an innocent smile, although the evidence of his deed was clear across the entire sky of his realm. Azura looked upon her brother, and Sheogorath waited patiently for her response. Azura lifted her hand and offered him the lovely golden collar that had broken beneath the gate, "Dear brother, I believe you left something behind." Sheogorath threw back his head and laughed. Then changed once again into the silvery fox and leapt into her arms, his golden eyes glinting with mischief.

_**Reviews are beloved. Please let me know how I'm doing.**_


	5. Volume 5: Namira

**Ah, my dear followers and readers and commenters and...everybody else. It has been a while since an update hasn't it. Well, here it is. Sorry for the wait, but my inspiration has been isolated to my 'Wolf of Cyrodiil' story. **

**But I finally got a brain-bite: why are there giant mushrooms and glowing tubors in Sheogorath's realm...hm? Hm? Well, let's find out.**

**Volume 5:**

At some unknown time, Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness, found himself idle in his realm. So he went forth, seeking something to draw his interest. This day he approached Namira, another Daedric Prince and the Lady of Decay, and requested permission to walk within her realm and amongst her followers. For the Mad Prince, such a request was merely a superficial courtesy, as he had no intention of going back to his realm which he had deemed boring. Namira recognized this and, in an equally superficial gesture, agreed. Although she resolved to keep a close eye on the mad daedra until he chose to find amusement elsewhere.

To her surprise, Sheogorath readily fit into her sphere of influence. He found pleasure in objects of revulsion, even the odd and distasteful smells, and ventured curiously into the shadows that held her gifts. He was, perhaps, a bit more excitable than those with whom she normally dealt. But even Namira's followers welcomed the Mad Prince when he sat down to table with them and ate of human flesh without the slightest hesitation. And as the duration of his visit lengthened and he proved a courteous guest, Namira let down her guard.

On day, Namira left Sheogorath in an underground domain of her followers and departed to see to some other business. She was not gone long…but it was long enough.

When the Lady of Decay returned, the entire cavern was in turmoil and it did not take long to realize why. Namira's followers dwell in the dark and squalid locations. The creatures to live amongst her followers were insects and slugs and only the most repulsive of amphibious beasts, and the only plant life to exist being fungus that thrived in the dark and damp. But it was these things that had attracted the Mad One's interest and the things that he had influenced in the Lady's absence.

Every fungus in the cavern now glowed like bright lamps and in a range of vibrant colors. The insects had grown to large sizes, sported brilliant shells, swift pincers and danced about on tall graceful legs, while the amphibious things that had crawled through the pools were now the size of dogs and scuttled around biting at the heels of her followers.

Upon Namira's appearance, the poor people rushed to her and cowered at the base of her robes, pleading for her to save them from the madman that afflicted them.

Namira glared at Shegorath, "What have you done here?!"

Sheogorath laughed as a giant insect's antennas tickled his beard, "You have been so generous in welcoming me I thought the greatest expression of my appreciation would be the gift of my influence. How do you like it?"

Namira shrieked, "You beast of a Daedra! You have ruined my dwelling. My bestiary is to inspire revulsion not terror! And where is the shadow with these glowing…things!?" She flung her hand to the entrance, "Get out! And take everything that bears your demented influence. I want none of it!"

Sheogorath appeared hurt, "My influence is not just demented. Maniacal, too." But he dutifully gathered the fungus he had touched into his arms and herded the creatures from Namira's sphere. At the entrance he looked back, "Are you certain you do not wish to just keep the amphibians?"

"NO! BEGONE!"

And so he was. Once in his realm, Sheogorath loosed the creatures into their new home. The amphibians he named Baliwogs and they took up residence in the waterways where they thrived on the Mad God's influence. Soon they found another stage of life, growing to the size of large men and walked on two legs. These became called Scalons, but they maintained the influence of their first home, diseasing with their bites. The giant insects quickly began nesting in the roots of his realm and became known as Elytra.

The fungi Sheogorath cultivated with his own hand. The glowing tubers soon lit up every dark corner while the mushrooms grew to the size of trees on the surface.

And all this work kept the Mad Prince interested and entertained for a long while…until the next time he became bored and sought amusement among his brethren.

**So, what do you think? This one wasn't born of the same level of inspiration, but I tried to keep it as close to the same style as I could. Review and let me know what you think.**


	6. Volume 6: Hircine

**NOTE TO MY READERS: This is not my work...Allow me to repeat that: THIS IS NOT MY WORK! This Accord is the original work of the geniuses of Bethesda and the Elder Scrolls to whom I defer to in regards to these Accords. I include this work only because I thought that all 16 Accords should be posted here, just for completeness. And since Volume 6 was already written in the game...here it is. **_  
_

**ANOTHER NOTE TO MY READERS: I am running low on inspiration. I am! Did you see how long it's been since my last update on this? And so I call upon you, my fine readers. Do you have a question regarding Sheogorath that an Accord might answer (with a daedra name attached would be helpful), or an idea for an Accord that I am simply unable to come up with? Please, lend me your thoughts and ideas, lest the remaining Accords go fallow for another month! You will get credit, a shoutout, and a strawberry tart(to be redeemed in New Sheoth from the Mad God himself).  
**

**The remaining Daedra to be featured in Accords are: Nocturnal, Sanguine, Molag Bal, Clavicus Vile, Peryite, Hermaeus Mora, and Sheogorath himself (or possibly Jyggalagg). Keep in mind, I must be able to write the story and there will likely be tweeks to your intentions. Vaermina and Malacath already have written Accords in the game to be posted at the appropriate volumes, and I already I have an idea for Meridia.  
**

**Leave your thoughts in the comments (or via PM), and I'll get to work. In the meantime, here's Hircine's Accord. Again, written by Bethesda and the Elder Scrolls team. Pure props to them.  
**

**_Volume 6:_  
**

_Ever proud and boastful, Oblivion's Mad Prince stood one fifth day of mid year among the frigid peaks of Skyrim, and beckoned forth Hircine for parlay. The Huntsman God materialized, for this was his day, and the boldness of Sheogorath intrigued him._

_Wry without equal, Sheogorath holds in his realm giggling loons, flamboyant auteurs, and craven mutilators. The Mad Prince will ply profitless bargains and promote senseless bloodshed for nothing more than the joy of another's confusion, tragedy, or rage. So it was that Sheogorath had set a stage on which to play himself as rival to Hircine._

_Without haste, the coy Prince proffered his contest; each Prince was to groom a beast to meet at this place again, three years to the hour, and do fatal battle. Expressionless behind his fearsome countenance, Hircine agreed, and with naught but a dusting of snow in the drift, the Princes were gone to their realms._

_Confident, but knowing Sheogorath for a trickster, Hircine secretly bred an abomination in his hidden realm. An ancient Daedroth he summoned, and imbued it with the foul curse of lycanthropy. Of pitch heart and jagged fang, the unspeakable horror had no peer, even among the great hunters of Hircine's sphere._

_In the third year, on the given day, Hircine returned, where Sheogorath leaned, cross-legged on a stone, whistling with idle patience. The Prince of the Hunt struck his spear to the ground, bringing forth his unnatural, snarling behemoth. Doffing his cap, sly as ever, Sheogorath stood and stepped aside to reveal a tiny, colorful bird perched atop the stone. Demurely it chirped in the bristling gusts, scarcely audible._

_In a twisted, springing heap, the Daedroth was upon the stone, leaving only rubble where the boulder had been. Thinking itself victorious, the monster's bloodied maw curled into a mock grin, when a subdued song drifted in the crisp air. The tiny bird lightly hopped along the snout of the furious Daedroth. Sheogorath looked on, quietly mirthful, as the diminutive creature picked at a bit of detritus caught in scales betwixt the fiery eyes of the larger beast. With howling fury, the were-thing blinded itself trying to pluck away the nuisance. And so it continued for hours, Hircine looking on in shame while his finest beast gradually destroyed itself in pursuit of the seemingly oblivious bird, all the while chirping a mournful tune to the lonesome range._

_Livid, but beaten, Hircine burned the ragged corpse and withdrew to his realm, swearing in forgotten tongues. His curses still hang in those peaks, and no wayfarer tarries for fear of his wrathful aspect in those obscured heights._

_Turning on his heel, Sheogorath beckoned the miniscule songbird to perch atop his shoulder, and strolled down the mountain, making for the warm breezes and vibrant sunsets of the Abecean coast, whistling in tune with the tiniest champion in Tamriel._


	7. Volume 7: Molag Bal

**Okay, I'm gonna do a little bit of gushing. You folks are fantastic! Even though I haven't added to this story in a while, there are still people finding and liking and favoriting and following it. Thank you sooooo much! And I feel horrid for not adding to it sooner. But that's just how inspiration works. Again, thank you, everyone!**

**Now, on to the story. I hope it is worth the wait.**

**Volume VII:**

Molag Bal, the Daedric Prince of Domination, had long tired of the tricks of his brother Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness. And so he decided to play a trick of his own upon the Mad Prince and get back at his brother for all the things he had done that had offended.

He went to the Mad God's realm and said to him, "Sheogorath, my brother, I have learned of a means by which one might create an army of Daedra. But, as I am not one for creation and you do not have servants of your own, I thought it best that you assist me in creating this army and we shall share in the profit."

Indeed, this was before Sheogorath had any Daedra hordes to his name. However he was wary and regarded Molag Bal, saying, "You're not usually one to share. And aren't you still sore about what I did with the cheese and your favorite cat-of-nine-tails?"

Molag Bal scoffed, "Of course not. That wing can always be remade. And if even one of the Princes lacks a horde to do his bidding, it belittles us all. I cannot abide being belittled. Even Peryite possesses his little minions. Will you do this with me, brother?"

Sheogorath thought, but not for long. "Yes. Let us create this army of Daedra."

Molag Bal hid a smirk and began, "There is a small plot of earth in a small corner of a small realm of Oblivion. It has long been overlooked. And yet I have discovered that this plot of earth possesses…special qualities that can create an army of Daedra unlike any seen before."

The Mad God listened intently, growing more excited by the moment. "And what must we do to create these Daedra?" he asked anxiously

The Prince of Domination thought quickly, "We will need…lettuce seeds. And…soul gems. Yes! We must plant these in the plot of earth for a year and a day. And a mighty army of Daedra shall grow from them."

Molag Bal hid his laughter as he described what needed to be done. For there was no special plot of earth that existed. Bal had merely conjured up a means by which to make a mockery of the one who had so often made a mockery of him. But Sheogorath was quite mad and possessed the logic of the mad. So all of these things seemed quite acceptable to him, and he agreed with a broad smile.

"Good," Molag Bal said, "I shall go to the plot of land and make ready. You gather the lettuce seeds and soul gems and bring them to the place. But be sure they are lesser soul gems because…we must begin growing them from an early stage."

The Mad God went off happily to get these things and Molag Bal laughed loudly at the success of his trick. And he decided to keep it going to see how long Sheogorath could be made the fool. Molag Bal went to some random plane of Oblivion and waited for Sheogorath. The Mad Prince came laden with seeds and gems. Together, he and Molag Bal planted them in the earth. Half of the plot they planted with the lettuce seeds and half with the soul gems.

After only a few weeks the lettuce seeds began to sprout. Sheogorath was very excited and Molag Bal managed to keep from laughing as he watched his brother's foolish eagerness. For he was very eager. The Mad Prince never left the plot of land. Every moment he went up and down the rows, weeding carefully so that not an unwelcome sprout even went to seed. And he defended his precious crop from interlopes, mortal or immortal, so that not even a single insect landed upon the crop.

But when the soul gems did not grow up with the lettuce, he began to grow concerned.

"What do you think is the matter with them?" he asked Molag Bal fearfully.

Molag Bal feared his trick might have been found out, so he said, "Perhaps they are not getting enough sun."

Sheogorath disagreed, "It is not sunlight they need, but moonlight. And they have been buried too deep."

He went up and down the rows, unearthing the soul gems so that part of them was above the ground. And all the while Molag Bal sniggered. But every night after Sheogorath polished each and every gem so that they did not become covered in dirt and dust. Molag Bal pretended to do the same, but mostly he watched his brother's foolishness and laughed to himself. Sheogorath, on hands and knees with a rag in hand, polishing and buffing the partly buried crystals. Who else but the mad would believe that Daedra could be grown from soul gems?

A few months went by. The lettuce grew larger and the soul gems remained the same. One day Sheogorath looked intently at the lettuce and noticed that they looked very ordinary.

"What do you think is the matter with them?" he asked Molag Bal fearfully.

Molag Bal feared his trick might have been found out, so he said, "Perhaps they are not getting enough water."

Sheogorath disagreed, "It is not simple water they need, but true drink! I shall fetch water from the very Font of Madness in my realm and they shall be watered with that."

No sooner had the Mad God left, then Molag Bal collapsed to the ground laughing. Sheogorath returned and began watering the lettuce with water from the Font of Madness. Molag Bal pretended to do the same, but mostly he watched his brother's foolishness and laughed to himself. Sheogorath, with dirt up to his elbows, working the soil like a common mortal farmer. Who else but the mad would believe that Daedra could be grown from lettuce?

A few months more went by. Sheogorath never once left the plot of land or neglected the tending of his precious crop. He polished the gems every night and watered the lettuce every day, weeding and tending everything on the little plot of land. And all the while Molag Bal watched the Mad God, withdrawing to his realm often so that he could fall into fits of laughter without giving away the trick. He looked forward to the day after the year had passed, when Sheogorath at last discovered that he had been had.

The year was coming to a close. The lettuce, although it still held its shape, had turned yellow and was wilting from age, and the soul gems had not changed at all. But Sheogorath remained as eager as ever.

On the last day of the year, Sheogorath said to his brother, "Tomorrow is the day. We must discuss how to divide the crop. Would you prefer the lettuce or the gems? Or shall we each take half of both?"

Molag Bal covered his laughter with a cough. "I have been thinking, brother. You have spent so much more time on this than I. You should have all the crop for yourself. It is only right."

Sheogorath was ecstatic, "Thank you, my brother!"

The Prince of Domination continued, "But I forgot to mention a ritual you must do before the Daedra will appear. At dawn tomorrow you must…skip around the whole plot of earth on one leg, snapping your fingers and ringing a chime. Then you must stamp your feet upon the ground and bid the Daedra awake." Indeed there was no such ritual. Molag Bal had merely conjured a final means by which to humiliate his brother before the trick came to an end.

But Sheogorath paid no mind to the oddity of his last task. "And so I shall," he declared. "Will you come tomorrow to see the Daedra wake?"

Molag Bal answered, "Of course. I would not miss that for all the realms of Oblivion." The trick he had played on Sheogorath was very satisfying. But Molag Bal wanted most to see the look on the Mad One's face when he realized the lettuce was lettuce and the gems were gems, and that no Daedra army would appear and he had been tricked by the Prince of Domination.

Sure enough, the next morning when the sun rose, Sheogorath set off around the plot of land. He skipped gaily, snapping his fingers and ringing the chime in his hand. Molag Bal could scarcely stand, so humorous did he find the spectacle. When Sheogorath had reached the place from which had begun, he stopped, stamped his feet upon the ground and cried, "Daedra, awake!"

Molag Bal looked on his brother, awaiting the moment of realization, and chuckling cruelly in anticipation. Then something stirred among the crop and his laughter sputtered and died.

One by one, the crop began to move. The wilted leaves of each of the heads of lettuce drew back like the petals of a flower to reveal a stunningly beautiful Daedric woman within. They're skin was as bronze as the sun's rays, and their eyes were piercing as those of a bird of prey and gold as septims. They stepped from their resting place, all cool confidence and elegance, answering the call of Sheogorath.

Likewise, the soul gems moved. Silvery cracks appeared along the surfaces of each gem and they broke away like the shell of an egg to reveal the beauty within. They were equal in loveliness to their counterparts of the lettuce, but fundamentally different. Their skin was as blue as the evening sky, and their eyes the gentle color of the gems that had housed them. They stepped from their resting place, all feline fluidity and seduction, answering the call of Sheogorath.

Sheogorath went among them, helping them to rise and walk. And each one looked upon him with complete trust and adoration, for they remembered how he had tended them in the garden. Sheogorath had doted upon each of them for all of a year and a day, and spared no effort in their creation.

In the midst of all this Molag Bal stood unmoving and silent, his mouth hanging open. When all of the Daedra had been woken and raised to their feet, Sheogorath turned to his brother and said, "You were most generous to give me your share of the crop. I will think of you often in the eras to come." And with that the Mad Prince whisked himself and his two new armies of Daedra off to his realm of Oblivion.

The bronze beauties took the name Aureals, although most mortals refer to them as Golden Saints. The azure maidens called themselves Mazken, but they are better known by mortals as Dark Seducers. Both became loyal servants of the Daedric Prince of Madness, paying back his devotion in the field with a fierce loyalty of their own.

And Molag Bal remained standing in the field amongst the wilted lettuce leaves and the shells of the soul gems with his mouth hanging open. He stood there for a year and a day, in such slack-jawed astoundment that birds were unafraid to nest inside his maw.

**So, kids, if a Daedric Prince plants a garden and wishes with all his heart, after a year and a day, Daedra will leap out of the ground from whatever he planted. And that is where Daedra come from. Now, if you want to know where _babies_ come from...that's not _my_ look-out. Go ask your parents! Sheesh...  
**

**I hope you all liked this one. I've been working on a few ideas over the last couple months (in and out of my other stuff), but this one just sort of nailed me in the back of the head and only took me a couple hours to put together. Hopefully it turned out well and the next one will come out sooner. Until then, I'm glad I still have readers for these. **

**Leave a review before you go. Thanks!**


	8. Volume 8: Nocturnal

**Another Accord! Hurray! This one is longer than the others. I blame Andrew Lang. I've been reading his 'Fairy Books' which are made of the old style of fairy tales and this Accord reflects his style. Think of this Accord as an old bard story. One where a traveling bard could tell two or three of these and earn a meal and a place to sleep for the night. That being said, off we go.**

Volume VIII:

There was once a thief who was quick of eye and deft of hand. His thefts were many and his victims no fewer, and his infamy grew quickly in his early years. Yet the thief was not content with the infamy he had earned. There were thefts spoken of that were greater than his and thieves more well known.

So he went into the wilderness and sought a shrine of the Daedric Prince Nocturnal, the Night Mistress and patron of thieves, in pursuit of his fortune. He found a shrine to the Lady and made all appropriate offerings to summon her. When the Daedra appeared, he prostrated himself before her and made his request.

"So your wish is to be the greatest thief ever known? I shall grant you this. If you do a service for me, then I shall make your name known throughout all the mortal realms. I shall even name you my champion."

Nocturnal instructed him, "You must go to a place I will show you and take with you a lesser soul gem, a head of lettuce and a spool of yarn. At this place you must sacrifice as you did here and bring forth Sheogorath, my brother and the Prince of Madness. He has something of mine and I wish it returned to me.

"You must convince him to take you into his realm. He shall set tasks before you which you must complete. These tasks cannot be predicted, as his madness is ever changing." The Mistress of Shadows plucked three feathers from the tails of the nightingales that perched about her shoulder and handed them to the thief. "Should any task prove beyond your abilities, set one of these feathers alight and I shall send my nightingales to assist you.

"When you have garnered his favor, Sheogorath shall offer you a reward for your service. You must tell him you wish for the key to all doors. You will know this key because you shall look upon it and not know its true shape. Accept no reward but this. And when you have it, bring it back to me.

"But beware," the Lady warned. "Once you have the key, do not let it leave your person or this shall all be for naught."

The thief left the shrine with the nightingale feathers safely tucked away. He went to the shrine of Sheogorath to which Nocturnal directed him and, with items in hand, sacrificed to the Daedric Prince of Madness and he appeared.

The Mad Prince said loudly, "Another mortal dares to summon me, and already I am bored."

The thief knelt before the shrine, "My lord, I am a simple locksmith in seek of my fortune and I have come to you in hopes of finding it."

The Prince's expression brightened, "A locksmith? How perfect! Just what I need."

And before the thief could think, he felt himself whisked away into the realm of madness where Sheogorath ruled. The realm was strange and beautiful with colors of all hues and tones and sights beyond a mortal mind's fathoming. He was taken into an incredible palace that put the White Gold Tower to shame. The thief was bathed and dressed in exotic clothing, then sat down to eat at a table laden with foods of all sorts. He was waited on by the insane and guarded by Daedra both beautiful and dangerous. Then he was taken to a splendid bedroom where he slept for the night.

He was roused the next morning and brought before Sheogorath. "You are a locksmith, so you must know a great deal about keys. Or pie. No, no…Keys. I want a key! Go to the swamps south of the palace and seek there a great dog. You must catch it and make a key from one of its teeth."

The thief asked, "What lock do you wish this key to fit?"

The Mad Daedra exclaimed, "I didn't say I wanted a key _to_ anything. I said I wanted a key! So go to it! And do not fail or I shall drop you upon Execution Point!"

The thief was afraid, as he did not like the sound of Execution Point. And he knew better than to argue with a madman, so he collected some supplies and went to the swamps south of the palace. It was not long before he saw the dog. It was large and strong and swift and bounded through the swamp with ease, although the trees were dense and the marsh was treacherous. Swiftly, the thief went about setting traps before the hound's path in an attempt to catch it. But the hound was clever too, and avoided whatever trap the thief had placed. Again and again the thief tried, but again and again the hound eluded him.

The thief beheld that the hound would not be caught and he lamented his fate. Then he remembered Nocturnal's gift to him and pulled out one of the nightingale feathers. He quickly took out his flint and burned it up. From the smoke, a nightingale appeared and said to him, "My lady has sent me to help you. What is it you need?"

The thief cried, "I must catch that hound and make a key from its tooth. But I cannot catch it."

The nightingale replied, "That is a simple thing."

The nightingale bid him make another trap and set it in the hound's path. Forward came the hound of the swamp. But before it could see the trap and veer away, the nightingale flew into its face and clawed out its eyes. Howling in agony, the hound continued to run forward and was caught in the thief's trap. The thief quickly killed the hound, took one of its teeth and carved a key from it. With the task done, the nightingale vanished and the thief returned to the palace.

Sheogorath was delighted. "A hound tooth key. Just what I wanted! But you killed the hound to get it. Ah, well. I'll get someone out there to fix it up again. But perhaps without all that skin and fur this time."

Another feast was set before the thief. He ate well and slept again in the chamber given to him. The next morning he was roused early and was very nearly carried to another room of the palace where Sheogorath awaited him. Within the room was an enormous glass walled chamber within which was more riches than the thief could imagine. Gold and jewels enough to purchase all of Tamriel several times over. So enthralled was the thief that he very nearly slipped upon passing through the doorway. He looked down and saw that the floor of the room was covered with ten thousand keys.

Sheogorath said to him, "Since you did so well yesterday, locksmith, I have another task for you. I wish you to look among these keys for the one that will fit the lock on the glass chamber. I will return at sunset. And if you fail, I shall drop you from Execution Point!" At this, Sheogorath left the thief alone but posted guards on the door so that he could not leave.

The thief set to work. For hours he tried dozens and hundreds of keys in the lock on the glass chamber, but none would fit. But there were so many keys that he might as well have tried to empty the ocean.

The thief looked outside and beheld that the sun was fast proceeding and he lamented his fate. Then he remembered Nocturnal's gift and pulled out one of the nightingale feathers. He quickly went over to a torch and burned it up. From the smoke a nightingale appeared and said to him, "My lady has sent me to you. What is it you need?"

The thief said, "I must find the key that fits the lock on the glass chamber. But there are too many."

The nightingale replied, "It is a simple thing."

The nightingale fluttered down upon the floor and pecked about the keys. It hopped to and fro, looking and testing, going all about the room. Then it fluttered back to the thief and said, "The key to that chamber is not here."

The thief wailed, "It must be here. Please check again. If I do not have the key by sunset then I shall be dropped upon Execution Point!"

Again the nightingale fluttered about the room, and again it returned and said, "The key is not here."

With nothing more to do, the nightingale vanished just as the door to the room opened and Sheogorath came in. "Have you found the key to the chamber?" he asked.

The thief threw himself at the Mad God's feet and cried, "I beg your mercy. I have not found the key. It is not here."

Sheogorath asked, "So the key to that chamber is not here?"

"No," the thief repeated, terrified at the thought of what he would face upon Execution Point.

The Mad God looked down at the thief, then about the room of keys and exclaimed, "Perfect! It wouldn't do to have the key to the bait inside the trap."

The thief remained frozen upon the ground as Sheogorath called in his servants to gather up the keys and take them away to some unknown purpose. Again, the thief ate at Sheogorath's table and was left to sleep in the chamber he had been given. But the thief did not sleep that night. He had come very close to death and feared what task the Mad God would put to him tomorrow.

The next morning he was roused and brought before Sheogorath. The Mad God gave him two keys, "I am tired of unwelcome people getting into my realm. So I have decided to lock it up. You shall go to the Gates of Madness that lead into my realm and use these two keys to lock the doors. Then, to be certain they cannot be gotten, you will sew up the keys within the body of my Gatekeeper. But he'll probably kill you if he sees you, so be careful. And if you fail or try to run, I shall find you and drop you upon Execution Point."

Without another word the thief was given a needle and thread, taken from the palace and sent on his way. The thief traveled across Sheogorath's realm until he came to the Gates of Madness. He was very careful to make no sound as he opened one of the sets of doors and peaked through.

The great Gatekeeper was standing guard on the other side. He had the likeness of a man but the proportion of a giant. A great mace acted as its right hand and it seemed as though all its limbs were sewn together. Even as the thief looked at the creature an army of warriors marched upon the Gates of Madness. The Gatekeeper fell upon them and laid the army low with scarcely a wound to itself, and returned to its place.

The thief was afraid. He believed he could get near to the Gatekeeper by relying on the stealth of his profession. But how was he to sew the keys within the Gatekeeper? For surely he would feel the prick of a dagger or needle.

So the thief drew out the last nightingale feather and burned it up. From the smoke a nightingale appeared and said, "My lady has sent me to you. What is it you need?"

The thief said, "I must sew these keys within the fearful Gatekeeper. But he is sure to feel me do the deed and kill me."

The nightingale replied, "It is a simple thing."

The nightingale fluttered out the gates and lit upon the branch of a tree and began to sing. The song was so beautiful and gentle that the mighty Gatekeeper's head soon began to loll. Then his shoulders slumped and he swayed upon the spot. At last the Gatekeeper toppled to the ground, completely asleep. The nightingale flew down and covered his eyes with its wings and said, "Come, thief, and do your task. So long as I touch him, he shall not wake."

And so the thief came out and locked both doors. Then he went and sewed the keys within the Gatekeeper as he slept. The nightingale disappeared and the thief was whisked once again to the Palace of Sheogorath where the Mad One greeted him.

"Well done, mortal. We'll see how many get in here now. Your service has pleased me and deserves a reward. Name what you wish and I shall grant it."

By now, the thief would be happy just to return to Tamriel never to encounter the Mad Prince again. But he said dutifully, "I wish for the key to all doors."

Sheogorath laughed, "The locksmith wishes for a key. How perfect!"

The Prince led the thief through the castle and into a vault. Within were as many keys as were in the room with the glass chamber. Some had prongs and some had teeth. Some were made of brass and others of silver or gold. Some were decked in jewels and others were intricately carved.

Sheogorath extended his hand, "Pick your key, locksmith, and it shall be yours."

The thief looked through all the keys but remembered that the key Nocturnal wished for was the one with no single shape. Because he could see clearly all the keys here, the thief looked to Sheogorath and said, "The key I want is not here."

"Oh? Then perhaps this is the key you want." Sheogorath removed a box from where it had been hidden within the room and opened it for the thief to see. The thief looked in and beheld a key lying upon shimmering black silk that was similar to Nocturnal's own garment. When first he saw it, it seemed to be of plain iron. In the next moment it had changed to gold with a turquoise hilt. The next moment it had a thousand teeth and the next it was nothing but a simple lockpick.

"Yes, that is the key I want."

Sheogorath asked, "Are you certain? The keys here are to many treasures in the mortal world. But if this is the one you wish than you may have it."

But the thief persisted, "That is the key I want." Sheogorath smiled and offered the box. The thief took the key out and carefully tucked it within his shirt.

The Mad God said to him, "Before I send you back to your world, there is one last gift I will give you." Sheogorath took the thief back to the throne room and showed him a fountain that sat behind his throne. "This is the Font of Madness. The source of my power and a concentration of both mad thought and creativity. Look within it and think of what you wish for and the Font shall show you how you might achieve it."

The thief was uneasy, but knew better than to refuse. So he bent over the Font and thought of how he wished to be the greatest thief ever known. Within the Font appeared an image of him wearing the Cowl of Nocturnal. The thief was astonished and as he leaned further over the font, the key he had come for slipped out of his shirt and fell into the water. He swiftly plunged his hand into the fountain and snatched it back. Sheogorath seemed not to notice. The thief quickly wiped the key dry and tucked it more securely away.

After another feast, Sheogorath returned the thief back to Tamriel and the thief returned to the shrine of Nocturnal. She appeared and said to him, "You have returned with the key. Give it to me. The thief handed the key over and Nocturnal handled it fondly. Then she said to the thief, "You have done well. Come with me. Your wish for renown shall soon be fulfilled."

The thief followed the Night Mistress to a secret place where there stood a mysterious font of her own. "This is the Ebonmere. It is the conduit by which I influence the mortal realm. It is also a pathway into the Evergloam."

Then she removed her cowl and set it aside. Then she took out the key and dropped it into the strange dark water. The instant the key touched the surface there was a flash of bright vibrant light and the loud crack of a laugh that echoed throughout the chamber.

Nocturnal was astonished, then turned on the thief in a rage, "Did the key ever once leave your person!?"

"No, my lady," the thief insisted. "It fell into Sheogorath's fountain for but a moment, but no one has handled it but I."

Nocturnal cried out, "It has touched Sheogorath's realm! That is enough! And the key has carried his influence directly into my realm. Now all the mysteries my darkness conceals are revealed to him." Her eyes flashed at the thief, "You have done this. Begone! Your wish shall go ungranted and you shall never be my champion!"

The thief prepared to depart in haste, but his eyes caught upon the cowl that Nocturnal had set aside. The vision from the Font of Madness occurred to him. And because Nocturnal would never help him achieve his wish, the thief chose to help himself. So, while Nocturnal was distracted by her lamentation of Sheogorath's influence, the thief snatched up the cowl and fled from that place.

Outside he was ecstatic. Whatever Nocturnal would have done to make his name known, the theft of Nocturnal's Cowl would certainly trump it. No theft would ever trump it. He would be known for this for ages to come.

In his glee, the thief placed the cowl upon his head and the voice of Nocturnal rose out of the air around him, "To steal from a Daedra is most unwise. I lay a curse upon that which covers your head: whosoever wears my cowl shall have his name stricken from history. I take from you the name you so wished remembered. You shall be known by the cowl you wear and only by the cowl."

And so Nocturnal's curse was cast. Soon after, the infamous Gray Fox began to appear and his infamy grew to such a height that his name would be remembered through the ages. And, as for the thief? His name has been lost to all since the moment he donned the cowl of Nocturnal.

**So there we go. The theft of Noctunral's Cowl, the reason crazy people may possess some knowledge beyond 'normal' people (see Chance's Folly, and thank you Hannibal Barca II for your idea. Although I saw it more as Nocturnal's mysteries than Hermaus Mora's knowledge), and why the Skeleton Key can turn people crazy (poor poor Mercer. If he'd read this, maybe he wouldn't have...spoiler. I'll stop. PLAY SKYRIM THIEVES GUILD!)**

**Oh, and for you lore crazies out there, I am fully aware that this Accord contradicts some of the ES lore. First: ES lore doesn't need my help to do that. It can contradict itself just fine. And second, this is an Accord, not a history book. It's meant to be a tail to explain something regardless of the reality of it. Like all the rest of mythology. So bite me! Or cheese... No, no, bite cheese. It tastes better. Mmmm. I want to bite cheese right now(nom nom).**

**...Sorry. Sheo's in my brain...**

**Thank you everyone for reading. Comment as you'd like. Maybe your Accord idea will make it into the next one.**


	9. Volume 9: Vaermina

**Let's start off with this: THIS IS NOT MY WORK! This is the work of those geniuses at Bethesda, one of three Accords that they did write. I should have posted this up along with the last one, but it slipped my mind. So here it is. Read it, love it, love Bethesda. Then move on to the next one and read it, love it, love me! I need love too. And Bethesda gets enough already. By the Nine, I love them!**

Volume IX:

Darius Shano found himself running as fast as he could.

He had no idea what he was running from or towards, but he didn't care. The desire saturated his mind - there was nothing in the world except flight. He looked around for landmarks, anything to place himself or to use as a target, but to no avail - the featureless grasslands through which he was sprinting extended as far as the eye could see. "Just have to keep running", he thought to himself. "I have to run as fast as I can". On and on he ran, with no end in sight or in mind...

Standing over Darius Shano while he lay quietly in his bed were his mistress, Vaermina the Dreamweaver, and the Madgod Sheogorath. Vaermina looked down with pride at this disciple of hers, and was boastful of her little jewel.

"Such potential in this one! Through dreams of inspiration, I have nurtured literary talent into fruition, and now he stands in acclaim as an emerging bard and poet! He will gain much favor before I tire of him." Sheogorath, too, gazed at the young Breton artist and saw that he was indeed famous among the other mortals.

"Hmmm," mused Sheogorath, "but how many are there who hate this mortal whom you have built? It is the hatred of the mortals which confirms greatness, and not their love. Surely you can accomplish this as well?"

Vaermina's eyes narrowed. "Yes, the mortals are indeed often foolish and petty, and it is true that many of their most bold have been despised. Do not worry, mad one, for I have the power to achieve many forms of greatness with this one, hatred among them."

"Perhaps, Dreamweaver, it would be amusing to show who has this power? Inspire foolish, arrogant hatred of this mortal for ten years, and then I will do the same. We shall see whose talents are most efficient, free of aid or interference from any of the Daedra."

At this, she relaxed into confident pleasure. "The Madgod is indeed powerful, but this task is suited to my skills. The mortals are repulsed by madness, but rarely think it worthy of hate. I shall take pleasure in revealing this to you, as I bring the more subtle horrors out of this mortal's subconscious."

And so, in the 19th year of his life, the dreams Darius Shano had been experiencing began to change. Fear had always been part of the night for him, but now there was something else. A darkness began to creep into his slumber, a darkness that sucked away all feeling and color, leaving only emptiness behind. When this happened, he opened his mouth to scream, but found that the darkness had taken his voice as well. All he had was the terror and the void, and each night they filled him with a new understanding of death. Yet, when he woke, there was no fear, for he had faith that his Lady had a purpose.

Indeed, one night Vaermina herself emerged from the void. She leaned in close to whisper into his ear.

"Watch carefully, my beloved!" With that, she pulled the void away, and for hours each night she would reveal to Darius the most horrible perversions of nature. Men being skinned and eaten alive by other men, unimaginable beasts of many limbs and mouths, entire populations being burned - their screams filled his every evening. In time, these visions gnawed at his soul, and his work began to take on the character of his nightmares. The images revealed to him at night were reproduced on the page, and the terrible cruelty and hollow vice that his work contained both revolted and fascinated the public. They reveled in their disgust over every detail. There were those who openly enjoyed his shocking material, and his popularity among some only fed the hatred of those who found him abhorrent. This continued for several years, while the infamy of Darius grew steadily. Then, in his 29th year, without warning, the dreams and nightmares ceased.

Darius felt a weight lifted, as he no longer endured the nightly tortures, but was confused. "What have I done to displease my Mistress?", he wondered aloud. "Why has she abandoned me?" Vaermina never answered his prayers. No one ever answered, and the restless dreams faded away to leave Darius in long, deep sleeps.

Interest in the works of Darius Shano waned. His prose became stale and his ideas failed to provoke the shock and outrage they once had. As the memory of his notoriety and of his terrible dreams faded, the questions that raced in his mind eventually produced resentment against Vaermina, his former mistress. Resentment grew into hatred, from hatred came ridicule, and over time ridicule became disbelief. Slowly it became obvious - Vaermina had never spoken to him at all; his dreams were simply the product of a sick mind that had righted itself. He had been deceived by his own subconscious, and the anger and shame overwhelmed him. The man who once conversed with a deity drifted steadily into heresy.

In time, all of the bitterness, doubt, and sacrilege focused in Darius a creative philosophy that was threaded throughout all of his subsequent work. He challenged the Gods themselves, as well as the infantile public and corrupt state for worshiping them. He mocked them all with perverse caricatures, sparing no one and giving no quarter. He challenged the Gods in public to strike him down if they existed, and ridiculed them when no such comeuppance was delivered. To all of this, the people reacted with outrage far greater than they had shown his previous work. His early career had offended only sensibilities, but now he was striking directly at the heart of the people.

His body of work grew in size and intensity. Temples, nobles, and commoners were all targets of his scorn. Finally, at age 39, Darius wrote a piece entitled "The Noblest Fool," ridiculing The Emperor God Tiber Septim for integrating into the pathetic Nine Divines cult. The local King of Daenia, who had been humiliated by this upstart in the past, saw his chance - for his sacrilege against the Empire, Darius Shano was executed, with a ceremonial blade, in front of a cheering crowd of hundreds. His last, bitter words were gurgled through a mouthful of his own blood.

20 years after their wager was first placed, Vaermina and Sheogorath met over Darius Shano's headless corpse. The Dreamweaver had been eager for this meeting; she had been waiting for years to confront the Daedric Prince over his lack of action.

"I have been deceived by you, Sheogorath! I performed my half of the bargain, but during your ten years you never contacted the mortal once. He owes none of his greatness to you or your talents or your influence!"

"Nonsense," croaked the Madgod. "I was with him all along! When your time ended and mine began, your whispers in his ear were replaced with silence. I severed his link to that from which he found the most comfort and meaning, and withheld the very attention the creature so desperately craved. Without his mistress, this man's character could ripen under resentment and hatred. Now his bitterness is total and, overcome by a madness fueled by his rage, he feeds me in my realm as an eternal servant."

Sheogorath turned and spoke to the empty space by his side.

"Indeed; Darius Shano was a glorious mortal. Despised by his own people, his kings, and even by the Gods he mocked. For my success, I shall accept three-score followers of Vaernima into my service. And the dreamers will awaken as madmen."

And thus did Sheogorath teach Vaermina that without madness, there are no dreams, and no creation. Vaernima will never forget this lesson.

**There we go. We'll get one more from Bethesda later. I'll keep working on filling in the gaps in the series.**


	10. Volume 10: Clavicus Vile

**I finally got another one of these out. I found a note on Umbra in a lore article and ran with it. We'll see how it turned out.**

Volume X:

Naenra Waerr was an ancient and powerful witch. She dwelt in neither town nor village and was scarcely to be found, even when sought. And yet her power and wisdom was known far and wide and by many. One evening, while she was setting down to supper, there came a knock upon her door. The witch answered it, surprised that anyone could discover her whereabouts so far away from civilization. She found upon her doorstep a tiny, little, round-faced man who scarcely came up to her waist, with shrewd eyes and two horns coming out from his forehead, seated upon a shaggy dog sized to be his steed.

"Good evening, grandmother," he said, bowing to Naenra. "Would you welcome a stranger into your home on this cold evening?"

The witch was wise and replied, "Indeed I shall, Clavicus Vile. For refusing a Daedric Prince is dangerous."

The little man smiled and dismounted, then trotted inside with his dog on his heel. He went over to the table and hopped up into a chair which was much too big for him and said, "I have come, grandmother Waerr, because I have heard tales of your power and skill. That your understanding of the nature of things is profound. For a mortal, that is. And so, I think there could be no one better than you to make something for me that I desire greatly."

Naenra Waerr asked, "And what would that be?"

Clavicus Vile replied, "My deal making has been very profitable lately and I have at my disposal a wealth of souls. I wish for an instrument to ease the task of collecting them, for my time is better spent on the granting of wishes. You will make this instrument for me and in return I will give you anything you desire."

Naenra said to him, "There is nothing I wish for that I do not already have."

The Daedric Prince pressed, "There must be something. Power?"

She refused, "I have enough of that to satisfy me."

"I could make you wealthy beyond count or measure."

"And what would I do with it?" she asked, "No. I want for nothing and therefore want nothing from you."

Clavicus Vile rubbed at his chin in thought. Then he smiled shrewdly and said, "I understand you are content with your peaceful life. But, should I leave from here unsatisfied, I might choose to inform anyone I meet exactly where to find the witch Naenra Waerr. They shall come by the score, seeking your wisdom and power for every mundane and stupid problem their little lives can spawn. You shall never know a moment's quiet again."

Naenra gasped and hung her head, defeated, "Very well. I shall make your instrument. But you will promise to leave me as you have found me."

The Prince of Wishes clapped his hands, "Very well. The deal is struck."

"Such an instrument must be made carefully and in a way that has never before been done. There are things I will need that you must get for me so that I may make your instrument. But, I do not trust you. Therefore, you shall diminish your daedric power until the instrument is completed."

Clavicus Vile balked, "How dare you insinuate that I might do something unseemly. How even would you suggest I diminish myself?"

Naenra replied, "Leave a portion of your soul here with me. I shall safeguard it until your instrument is complete. But I shall bind you to your hound companion so that, so long as you are with him, you shall still be capable of all you are now. But alone, you shall be diminished."

The Prince looked upon his dog and said, "I suppose I could suffer to be near this one for a while. So long as I will receive this portion of my soul back with the instrument."

"You have my word," Naenra replied.

And so Clavicus Vile removed a portion of his daedric soul and gave it to her, and Naenra bound him to his hound. When the ritual was complete the creature opened his mouth and spoke, "I will stay by your side always, my master."

Clavicus Vile started at the unexpected side effect. "A talking dog. Already I look forward to this business being done."

"Indeed," Naenra said, "I shall need you to gather things to create this instrument. I will need three things to create your blade, for a blade it must be. I am a witch, not an armorer. Therefore you must bring me the skills of a great smith, that I may create the blade to be unmatched. Second, my wisdom is not immeasurable. Therefore you must bring me a forbidden tome from the library of Hermaeus Mora himself, that I may create the blade to do its task. Third, I do not know the number of souls you shall bid this sword to collect. Therefore you must bring me a shard of the Void itself, that I may create the blade to know no limit." The Daedric Prince listened and agreed to do these things and departed.

Clavicus Vile traveled far and wide seeking an armorer of great skill. He made a deal with him and acquired the skills of the great smith. Whatever the smith gained from the deal, he was killed soon after by a client who received a defective blade.

Clavicus Vile went unto Apocrypha, the realm of Hermaeus Mora. He made a deal with him and acquired a forbidden tome. Whatever Hermaeus Mora gained from the deal, that knowledge is now lost in the endless library.

Clavicus Vile then ventured into the Void and to the dreadful presence of Sithis Himself. He made a deal with Him and acquired a shard of the Void. Whatever Sithis gained from the deal, Clavicus Vile will never tell. But the Lord of the Void was pleased.

By the time Clavicus Vile returned to the home of Naenra Waerr, many years had passed. And she was no longer alone, but was now dwelling with a young man who had jet black hair and a hearty appetite. When Clavicus Vile asked after the boy, Naenra replied, "Your visit reminded me of my loneliness. This is my son. He has kept me company for these many years. Do you have what I asked for?"

Clavicus Vile gave to her the skill of the armorer, the forbidden tome and the shard of the Void. With the skill, Naenra forged the shard into a blade with no equal. And with the tome, she imbued it with the ability to take souls into itself.

It took many days, but at last Naenra finished the blade and gave it to Clavicus Vile, "Here is the thing you have asked of me. Now do as we agreed and leave me as you found me."

Clavicus Vile took his prize and said, "I will. But first you must return the portion of my soul that I lent you when this began."

The witch remained silent for a time before answering, "I cannot. I no longer have it."

The Daedric Prince was incensed. "You have lost the portion of my soul? Or are you merely keeping it for yourself?!" The Prince raged and swung his blade around in a fit, "You broke our deal, witch!" He swung the blade and plunged it into Naenra's son, slaying him on the spot. Then he declared, "Now I truly leave you as I found you. Alone." And he summoned his dog and departed.

But Vile was not yet done with Naenra. He went to the nearest town and told them of the terrible weapon that the witch had created. He soon had that town and many others up in arms. They went into the woods to seek her. With Clavicus Vile's aid they found Naenra and prepared her to be executed. But they could not find the fearful blade she had created.

Clavicus Vile stood in the crowd and said to her, "You should have returned my soul, you witch."

She called out to him, "I agreed to safeguard it until your instrument was complete, and I did. I gave my word you would receive your soul back with the instrument, and you shall. For the portion of your soul now lies within the blade as the first soul taken by its power. I fashioned my son, Umbra, from the very piece of your soul that you left with me. His soul now changes the blade, even as his soul was changed by the life I imbued in him. So seek the sword of Umbra. For I shall not tell you where it is I hid it."

At that moment the executioner's axe descended and Naenra's head was cut off. Clavicus Vile sought long and far for the blade called Umbra, and always with the dog at his side, but was never able to find it.

Post Note:

There are those who accredit the witch Naenra with being the Daedric Prince Sheogorath. I leave judgment of that claim to the opinion of the reader. But this author's opinion may be assumed by this tale's presence amongst the Accords. And should you come across the blade Umbra in your travels, this author recommends that you let it lie. For should Sheogorath have had a hand in its creation, it surely has the ability to warp mortal minds.

**And there you go, the reason Barbas hangs with Calvicus Vile (and the reason for his Skyrim Daedric quest). And legitimacy to that lore tidbit about Naenra being Sheogorath. Why would this story be in the Accords otherwise? Leave a review and let me know if you liked it.**


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